


It Became A Pastime

by Zordosia (orphan_account)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: ""Friends"" With Benefits, Canon Era, Childhood Sexual Abuse Mention, Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, Less "opposites attract" and more "two people from different sides of the asshole spectrum", M/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-08-27 06:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8390209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Zordosia
Summary: The first time it had happened, it was because Burr had forgotten his book at the tavern, and hadn’t realized it until late in the night. And so Burr was forced to reenter the tavern at the time of night when its population had dwindled to solely people who sustained themselves through bad decisions.	“Burr!” John Laurens yelled. “You’re back! You wanna talk some more?”





	1. Chapter 1

    The first time it had happened, it was because Burr had forgotten his book at the tavern, and hadn’t realized it until late in the night. And so Burr was forced to reenter the tavern at the time of night when its population had dwindled to solely people who sustained themselves through bad decisions.  
  
    “Burr!” John Laurens yelled. “You’re back! You wanna talk some more?”  
  
    By talk, John meant him and his friends getting into an argument amongst themselves, asking Burr his opinion on the matter, groaning in unison when he equivocated, and then trying their hardest to get him to side with one of them, mainly by yelling at him very loudly. But none of John’s friends were here now.  
  
    The bartender looked over John’s slouched, swaying shoulders to Burr. “He can’t crash here again,” the man told him. “You’re going to have to take your friend home.”  
  
    John protested that with angry whining noises, and Burr protested that with, “He’s not my friend.”  
  
    The bartender shrugged. “Well, you’re one of the few who I’ve never seen punch him, so close enough.”  
  
    John lolled his head around to give Burr a loopy grin. Burr gritted his teeth, shoved the book under one arm, and with the other shuffled John off his seat and guided him as best he could out the door.  
  
    “Where’s your place?” Burr asked, when they hit the cold fall air. John’s response was muffled by the fact that his face was buried in the shoulder of Burr’s coat. “Laurens. Come on.”  
  
    “Up near the barber’s.”  
  
    “The bad one or the good one?”  
  
    “How would you know?”  
  
    “Laurens.”  
  
    “The good one.”  
  
    That was on the other side of town. Burr sighed. “Ok. You’re staying at my place tonight.”  
  
    His flat was nearby, and Burr became more and more grateful for that as John moved less and less on his own power. Finally, he was able to drop John on his bed.  
  
    “Ok,” Burr said. “We’re going to bed, because I cannot listen to you anymore. You can take one of my nightshirts.”  
  
    John lifted his head up, frowning. “This your bed?”  
  
    “Uh. Yes.” John began to struggle to sit up and Burr rolled his eyes. “Look, I know it’s not your level of luxury, and I don’t love it either. But you’ll survive.”  
  
    “I don’t want to sleep next to you,” John said, his voice suddenly hard. Burr stared at him.  
  
    “Seriously?”  
  
    “I’ll sleep on the floor.”  
  
    “Laurens, you’re being ridiculous.”  
  
    “Just give me a pillow and a blanket or something.”  
  
    “Why don’t you want to sleep in the same bed as me?”  
  
    “Look, just-“  
  
    “Why not?”  
  
    John stopped and looked back at Burr, and he seemed just as surprised as Burr at the intensity that had entered his voice. After a moment, he pulled off his shoes, dropped his coat to the ground, and climbed into the bed, curled up away from Burr.  
  
    Burr was good at people, but one didn’t have to be particularly skilled to be able to read John Laurens. The man was stupidly honest. He communicated his every thought and emotion either through his violently angry rants, or through the way he seemed to exercise no control over his facial and bodily expressions.  
  
    “You know,” Burr said, as he lay next to him. “My friend Bellamy was weird about touching me when I met him. Even, like, shaking my hand, even when we had gotten close.”  
  
    “Is this one of your friends from that convent you went to?”  
  
    “I talked to him about it, finally, and he said he was afraid of how I would react. To him… shaking my hand. But it was fine.”  
  
    John was silent now. Burr waited, because he would not be the one to take this leap, and when John remained silent, Burr decided to give him a push.  
  
    “You know, you always be the same Laurens to me, the same honorable, valiant, heroic John-“  
  
    John pushed Burr over, pinned him to the bed, and kissed him hard. He growled a little when Burr smiled.  
  
    “And here I thought you weren’t going to compensate me for room and board.”  
  
    John rolled his eyes and pulled away a bit to unbutton his shirt. “Fuckin’ talk less.”  
  
    The next morning, Burr woke up first. He looked over at Laurens— taking up more than his fair share of the bed, still naked, snoring. Burr dressed and left the room as quickly as possible. He sat down at his desk and picked up a pencil. He tapped it against the desk aimlessly as he tried to make sense of why he had just done that.  
  
    Bellamy had told him, with that solemn expression he always got after he had visited his preacher father, that lust was his fatal sin. Burr had humored this insight as politely as possible, but he had already known this. This knowledge had been pushed on him when he was young, far too young, and so it had seeped into his formation and become a part of him. He could no more extract his rakishness from his identity than he could his carefulness. Bellamy had been kind and well-intentioned but he had been unwilling to look at Burr’s ugly and ineradicable growths, much less his own.  
  
    John was bitter and selfish but he was honest.  
  
    The door to his bedroom opened and Burr turned around. John stood there, haphazardly dressed, fidgeting.  
  
    “Look, Burr, I was really drunk last night, ok?”  
  
    “Do you want to do that again sometime?” Burr asked. John stilled and looked at him, slack-jawed.  
  
    “It was fun, and I don’t think either of us are with anyone seriously right now.” Burr shrugged. “It’d just be casual.”  
  
    “Yeah! Ok, yeah.” John shook his head, still looking a little dazed. “Yeah, it was fun. Which was surprising. I mean, I guess I always expected that you would be a ‘missionary once a year and then an hour of prayer’ guy, what with your grandfather and the stick up your ass and all.” John paused. “No pun intended, I guess.”  
  
    “You were just as sloppy as I’d imagined.”  
  
    “Fuck off, you know it was good.”  
  
    “Mm,” Burr said noncommittally, tapping his pencil to the desk. “At least you’re cheaper than whores.”  
  
    “Don’t give me ideas.”  
  
    And so for the next few weeks, John would berate and mock Burr at the tavern, and then push him down and fuck him later that night.  
  
    Sometimes, when the tavern was too full for anyone to be paying attention to them, John would be blatant. Would get up real close to Burr, whisper in his ear, wrap his arm around his shoulder and grope at him. Then Burr would get up and move to a different table, followed by the sound of John’s laughter.  
  
    “You’re going to get a reputation,” Burr said to him once, later that night.  
  
    “You’re the one that cares about that shit,” John replied, serene. “You’re the one who feels like you have to make your dead daddy proud.” Burr had started to get out of bed at that, and so John had backtracked, because John always rewarded Burr for reacting to his needling. “Because your family name means something to you. Something good. ‘Laurens’ is just slavery and bloody money. I have nothing to lose.”  
  
    Burr had gotten back into bed and put his arm around John when he curled back into him. John would be a lot more convincing, he thought, if he didn’t punctuate every public flirtation by slipping out of the tavern early and showing up to Burr’s late.  
  
    And any credibility John might have had shattered when he showed up bloodied and limping.  
  
    “What the fuck happened, Laurens?” Burr asked, aghast. He started to weave his arms around John’s torso to support him, then dropped them quickly when John cried out. Burr hesitated, then looped his arm around John’s like he was leading a lady to a dance, and took a step down the hallway. John followed, leaning on Burr heavily.  
  
    “Someone was bein’ a little shit,” John mumbled. His breath was heavy and smelled like booze, but he could talk and no blood came out, so Burr counted his blessings. “Some… loyalist or something. Bein’ a shit. Tried to teach him a lesson, but his friends showed up.” John laughed as Burr struggled one-handed with the door to his bedroom.  
  
    “Maybe you should have waited for your friends,” Burr said. He led Laurens to his bed, and John sat unsteadily at the edge.  
  
    “He was in the street out there,” John jerked his head towards Burr’s window. “Herc and Laf live downtown somewhere. Too far.”  
  
    “You could have gotten me,” Burr called from the washroom.  
  
    John laughed again. “We’re not friends, right Burr?”  
  
    Burr sat down next to him and pushed the hair that had fell out of his ponytail back, and moved a wet washcloth over John’s face. “No cuts there,” he said absently, stroking John’s cheek with it.  
  
    John grinned. “Yeah. All the other guys’. I got some shit in.” Burr kissed his forehead, gently, and John’s grin faltered.  
  
    Burr undid John’s jacket and shirt, and pushed them off carefully. His ribs had a large black bruise, and Burr traced his fingers over it, frowning.  
  
    “They’re not broken,” John said a little sharply. Burr looked up, startled. “I did some medical training. I know, ok? Just bruised.” He swung his legs around and awkwardly lay down in the bed. “I’ll be fine tomorrow.”  
  
    Burr lay down next to him. “If you’re not, I’m taking you to a real doctor.” He kissed John’s neck. John jolted back, then winced at the sudden movement.  
  
    “I told you, Burr, I’m okay.” John’s fists were clenched and Burr looked up at him, alarmed.  
  
    “I’m not saying you’re not, I’m just worried about you is all.”  
  
    “Don’t be. I don’t need you to take care of me.”  
  
    “I know you don’t need me, but I want to-“  
  
    “Well I don’t!” John yelled. “I don’t need your help, I don’t need you to judge me, I don’t need you to pity me, ok?”  
  
    He was crying now, raked his hand across his eyes angrily. Burr sat up and looked away from him.  
  
    “I’m not judging you, John.”  
  
    “Yes you are.” He was quieter now, but he had let pain seep into his anger, and that put Burr on edge more than anything else. “You don’t say it, because you don’t say anything. But I know what you think of me.”  
  
    “What do you think I think of you, John?” He was silent and Burr allowed himself to look at him. John’s eyes were squeezed shut and he was crying harder. Burr put his hand on his knee, and John didn’t move away.  
  
    “I think you’re reckless to the point of stupidity,” Burr said quietly. “I think that you fight with people you disagree with because hurting them is easier and feels safer than trying to convince them. I think you fight for beautiful things.” Burr felt John tense up and he took a deep breath. “I think you fight people because you never got justice, and you so want to bring as much of that into the world as you can.”  
  
    “Stop,” John said. Burr took his hand away and place it in his lap, and after a minute he continued softly.  
  
    “I think you could have been much louder and crueler. I think you’re not because you fight yourself very hard not to be. And I admire that, John.”  
  
    John stood up. “I have to go.” Burr felt his stomach drop.  
  
    “Laurens, you’re hurt-“  
  
    “I’ll be fine. Seriously.” John carefully put his clothes back on. His gait was a bit more normal. “There’s a lodging house nearby. I’ll spend the night there. I’ll be fine.”  
  
    “John, please.“  
  
    John looked at him with eyes that were bloodshot but tender and said, “Thanks, Aaron.” Then he left and Burr lay back in the bed that John had stained all bloody and gave himself over fully to the pity he felt for John.  
  
    Burr stayed in instead of going to the tavern the next night. The night after that, John showed up at his place.  
  
    Burr stared at him. He was too sober to want sex and Burr was terrified of what else he could want.  
  
    “I think we should stop hooking up,” John said. He was looking over Burr’s shoulder, refusing to make eye contact. “This was supposed to be just casual, no strings attached, and I think you’re getting too invested.”  
  
    “Alright, that sounds good.”  
  
    John blinked in surprise and finally looked at Burr. “Yeah?”  
  
    “Yeah.” Burr’s fear and anxiety had dissipated now that he knew what was going on, and what John wanted. He realized that he had misidentified John as being honest, when in fact he was simply a very poor liar, especially to himself. “Things got weird last night. We should both just forget about it.”  
  
    John nodded, still clearly surprised with how this had played out. “Yeah.”  
  
    “And you know, I wouldn’t tell anyone that we hooked up. I mean, it’d look pretty bad on me, too.”  
  
    “Yeah.” John laughed. “Thanks, Burr. I didn’t expect you to be so cool about this.”  
  
    “Why not?”  
  
    “You know what, I have no idea. I really should have expected this.”  
  
    That night, John and his friends roundly mocked Burr for his refusal to weigh in on their debate about taxation.  
  
    A few months later, Burr bought Alexander Hamilton a drink, and then watched as John stared at Alex, enraptured, for the rest of the night. He watched as John slipped his arm around him and whispered in Alex’s ear, and how Alex leaned into it and whispered back, and watched a blush spread across John’s face. He watched John lean on Alex as they hobbled away from a bar fight, and close his eyes when Alex pet his hair. He watched John sit patiently at the bar as Alex flirted with women, eyes straight ahead and face painfully neutral. He watched Alex tap him on the shoulder at the end of the night and watched John give him a relieved smile and follow him out.  
  
    He watched John and wondered what John had thought of him, and wondered what Alex had done to earn his honesty.


	2. Chapter 2

Burr was leaving Theodosia’s house- careful, in the early morning, his hat tipped low over his face, his clothes perfectly in order- when he heard, “well, if it isn’t Aaron Burr!” By all rights, that should have turned his blood. It should have made him go rocketing back into the house, telling Theo to run, or towards that voice, to make it never speak again, but Burr found himself feeling simply annoyed. 

“John Laurens,” he said, addressing the pile of man leaning against the curb. 

John grinned and Burr gauged the situation. His speech wasn’t impaired, and he wasn’t bleeding or bruised. But he was still nearly horizontal on the street, which was worrying. He resigned himself and began counting the blocks to John’s lodgings.

“Well Burr,” John said, unaware of or ignoring Burr’s calculations, “what are you doing, leaving Mrs. Bartow’s house at such an hour?”

“Fixing a problem with her fireplace,” Burr said drily. John looked up at him, then at his outstretched hand, then at his own legs. He sighed and took Burr’s hand, and grunted as Burr pulled him upright.

“Yeah yeah. I bet you treated her chimney real good.”

“Gross.”

“Yeah.” John grinned again and knocked his hip into Burr’s, causing him to stumble. “Look atchu, Burr. Picked a good lady to be a side piece for.”

“Your approval means a lot to me.”

“Imma side piece,” John said. Burr rolled his eyes.

“I don’t think you and Alexander, as _secretive_ as the two of you are being, fit into that relationship category.”

“Mmm,” John said. He did not sound particularly upset that Burr knew about Alexander, and Burr glanced at him sideways, trying to discern if this was a general apathy or if John still trusted him.

“I’m married,” John said. Burr stopped in his tracks and John stumbled a bit then righted himself, staring down at the pavement.

“What? Really?” John said nothing and after a minute, Burr continued walking. John’s grip on his should loosened slightly.

John was silent until they reached his apartment block, and then he announced, “She’s in London.” Burr looked over at him, and his face was as neutral as he had ever seen it. “Had to leave. The war and all. She was pregnant when I left. Got a kid now.”

“I… didn’t know.” Burr opened the building door and carefully led John in, unsure of how to navigate this. “Are she and the child well?”

“Alex doesn’t know,” John said. Burr stopped again and this time John broke away and made his way to his door, which he leaned against heavily.

“Why…” John did not look at him and Burr stopped himself. He remembered Alex telling him how he had not seen his father since before his mother’s death, but he also  remembered how he would pray at night for the father of Theodosia’s children to die in battle. He did not particularly feel like telling John what to do in this situation.

“I mean, I’m sure he doesn’t tell all the girls he hooks up with about you.” Burr immediately regretted the words but to his surprise, John simply laughed and tossed Burr his keys.

“Yeah, he sure as shit doesn’t.” Burr held the door open for him, and John walked unsteadily in, towards his bedroom. Burr followed him.

John collapsed on his bed and looked up at Burr. He opened his mouth to ask if John needed anything, some water, the bedpan, but John interrupted to ask, “You remember when we used to fuck, Burr?”

Burr could have sarcastically pointed out how he remembered the address of John’s place, or how he remembered how to walk John when he was wasted, or how he remembered that he would have to close the curtains in the living room before he left, because John liked to read on the sofa when he had a hangover. But he was tired so he simply responded, “Yeah.”

John smiled at him loopily. “You have a thing for married folks, don’tcha?”

Burr laughed. “Yeah John, I guess you’re right.”

“How are things going? With Bartow?”

The question surprised him, but John seemed to be asking it earnestly. “Good,” Burr said after a moment. “It’s… good. No one seems to know about us. She writes me a letter every day.”

John stared up at the ceiling. “You write her back?”

“Yes?”

“That’s good. Women like letters.” John looked Burr in the eye. “Hey Aaron, you think I’ll get to be a real side piece? When Alex gets married?”

Burr opened his mouth to say something but could not think of anything to say. John laughed and rolled on his side and closed his eyes. “’Night, Burr. Thanks.”

Burr pushed John’s hair out of his face. He shivered but did not open his eyes. Burr turned to leave.

“Burr?” He stopped in the doorway and looked back at John. 

“Yeah?”

“I hope Martha has someone like you.”

John’s eyes were shut but Burr still could not meet them. “Good night, John,” he said, and then closed the curtains in the living room and headed back to his home. Theodosia’s letters were sitting on his bedside table, and he read them before he finally fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was prompted by @heirblooms for Burrens, and ended up with a short sort-of sequel to this fic. Thank you, and I hope this works!
> 
> I'm @tacticalgrandma on tumblr if you want to talk there about anything.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and any comments or kudos would mean the world to me!

**Author's Note:**

> The Hamildoc may have featured more George Bush than it did Reneé, but at least it gave us the concept of Laurens trying to play Gay Chicken with Burr.
> 
> My tumblr is theoroark, if you want to reach me there.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and any comments or kudos would mean the world to me!


End file.
